


Sister

by Rossi



Series: Midnight Nation - TJ [1]
Category: Midnight Nation (Top Cow comics)
Genre: Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 15:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7623289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rossi/pseuds/Rossi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a quest to regain her soul, led by the mysterious Laurel, Tabitha James discovers what's at stake if she doesn't succeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sister

**Author's Note:**

> J. Michael Straczynski, back in 2000-2002, wrote a 12-issue comic for Top Cow called [Midnight Nation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Midnight_Nation). It told the story of David, a police officer whose soul had been stolen, and who was on a journey in the mysterious Between with an woman (secretly an angel) called Laurel as a guide. David discovers along the way that if he doesn't get his soul back, he will become a Walker, one of the cloaked and twisted creatures who attack them on a regular basis. 
> 
> This fic is set in that universe, and tells the story of another pilgrim searching for her soul. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Laurel, the Walkers and the place Between belong to J. M. Stranczynski and Top Cow comics. TJ – Tabitha James - is mine. The song quote is from “Sister” by the Indigo Girls on their album “Come On Now Social”. 
> 
> No profit, only homage.

“It’s trust that brought me here,  
And trust will bring me home.”

*

TJ’s hands shook as she buttoned her shirt. That done, she shrugged on her heavy Army-issue jacket and fastened it as well, hiding the brand on her skin, the outwards sign of the corruption within her, beneath the thick layers of fabric. It didn’t help, the memory still burned in her mind, the black swirls that could almost be mistaken for a tattoo – except they hadn’t been there last night when she’d gone to sleep and there were no Army drinking buddies to play practical jokes. In the soft light of first dawn, the sight of it had jerked her out of her resigned complacency – until now, she’d accepted this place, the place Laurel had called Between; she’d thought of it and this Long Walk as just another duty, another mission. But seeing that mark upon the white skin between her breasts, it had been like being suddenly woken from sleep. By a bomb.

It was true, what Laurel had told her. She was turning, becoming one of the Walkers, one of those grinning green demons with desperate bloodlust burning in their yellow eyes. She shuddered, thinking for the first time since those first bewildering, shell-shocked days, of her first meeting with The Men, the night they’d stolen her soul. She’d been leaving a bar frequented by the troops at her base, alone but confident in her ability to deal with whatever might be thrown at her. The sounds of a struggle had drawn her to the darkest corner of the parking lot: she’d stood, momentarily frozen, at the sight of two young punks – local trouble makers looking to make a name for themselves – being _shredded_. It was the only word for it; blood and gobbets of flesh hung from surrounding cars, from the low bushes around the lot… a severed finger, still wearing a class ring, had smacked her shoulder wetly, and for a moment she’d fought the desperate need to vomit. But what made it worse, if that was indeed possible, was the attackers themselves, half-seen, black flapping cloaks and grinning, bloodstained mouths, like puffs of smoke, only partly-there.

She should have run, should have high-tailed it back to base as fast as her legs would take her. Turned her back on a couple of deadbeats who were dead already, instead of trying to play the hero. Her dad, more Army sergeant than father, would have let her have it with both barrels if he had seen the way she had rushed in, unprepared and unaware of what she faced. Her trusty pistol had been useless, the rounds disappearing into the darkness after passing harmlessly through these ghosts with teeth and claws, and her fists equally so. She’d stuck out at them, and all she had encountered was a deathly cold that seemed to freeze the marrow of her bones.

“Shah!” The triumphant hiss still echoed in her ears, and in the growing light of the present day, TJ jerked as the memory-wraith plunged his hand into her chest, filling her heart with liquid nitrogen.

“TJ?” Laurel’s voice at the door to the dingy room recalled her to herself, to reality, such as it was for her now. With the theft of her soul, she had lost her place in what had always been the only world, _her_ world, a world of drill and inspections and guard duty and PT and hanging with the guys, shooting the breeze. “Sun’s up, we need to be on the road. We…”

“…don’t have a lot of time, I know,” TJ retorted, making sure her shirt was buttoned all the way to the neck, even though she could see through the window that it was going to be another gorgeous late spring day. “I’m coming.” Satisfied that there was nothing untoward to give her away, she opened the door. “See? Here I am. Private James, reporting for duty, ma’am!” She saluted with a grin that felt more like a grimace, but it seemed to fool Laurel, as she rolled her eyes.

“Come on, there’s a place we can scrounge for food on the way out of town.” 

“More jerky, yay,” TJ joked weakly as she followed her dark-haired guide down the stairs and onto the deserted Between streets.

*

The pace that wasn’t quite a march – for a march required an army – but was more than a walk, chewed up the miles as if they were nothing. TJ was silent, preoccupied, and Laurel seemed content to take her cue from this. If she thought anything was wrong, she didn’t say. And TJ figured that Laurel was the sort to speak her mind; she had proved that more than once already on this journey. So she probably hadn’t noticed that TJ wouldn’t take off her jacket and unbutton her shirt despite the sweat sheening her skin, or the frown creasing her forehead, or the dark shadows under her eyes. Probably.

Almost certainly.

Then again… TJ cast a look at her dark haired companion. Laurel’s face reminded her of those old Italian statues of angels, except no angel had such an expression of weariness. It bothered TJ, seeing that: there was an air of vulnerability about her guide that was at odds with the woman’s toughness, something that made TJ want to protect her, make things easier for her. It was more than the fact that only Laurel was able to help her, or even the camaraderie that was only natural after weeks on the road together. TJ trusted Laurel, had done so since their first meeting in the base hospital.

In its own way that had been almost as bad as the Walkers themselves, waking to find her familiar world out of reach. Friends, acquaintances, associates… no-one could see her, hear her. They had become ghosts, or maybe she had – at the time, she wasn’t sure if she was even alive. Laurel had been a reassuringly solid – if sarcastic – affirmation of her own existence. And from TJ’s first meeting of those midnight blue eyes, she knew immediately she could trust this stranger.

But what about the reverse? Before this morning, TJ would have disputed – possibly violently – any suggestion that she wouldn’t be loyal, wouldn’t back up her companion in any situation. But now, with this confirmation of her fate, the reminder of what she was becoming, she couldn’t be sure. How could she, when she wasn’t going to remain herself?

Despite the heat, TJ shivered.

*

They came across the Walkers at dusk, as they entered another tiny country town, this one so small it didn’t even rate the requisite one horse. The Walkers weren’t making any effort to hide themselves, or their activities – here, Between, there were few to challenge them and even fewer to dare to do so – and they clustered around their prey, a girl, young, once, pretty, once, but now worn down with the trials of life as a non-person. She screamed as their talons sliced into her skin.

TJ didn’t hesitate. She charged into the gathered darkness, fists swinging, scattering the Walkers like so many crows. Laurel was a half-step behind, but no less effective. There was something satisfying in feeling the black-striped green skin splitting under her knuckles, in feeling the blood splashing against her skin, in being able to _feel_. There was precious little sensation in this half-existence, but pain… pain was reliable. TJ barely noticed the girl scrabbling away and disappearing into the cluster of abandoned buildings that must be were she was living, intent only on the Walkers she was mauling. Claws grappled for her, sliced through her clothes, slashed her skin, and still she punched and twisted and gouged and kicked. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Laurel, hard-pressed, and she turned to help, tossing aside the unconscious body of the Watcher she’d just half-throttled.

Laurel was struggling between three Walkers, their triumphant hissing matching the hungry grins on their faces. But even as TJ moved forward, one of them _looked_ at her, looked at her with recognition and greeting in his eyes, and pointed at her chest, where the mark was an ice-cold burning on her skin. 

“Shah!” he exclaimed, and then pointed to himself. “Shah!”

‘One of us.’ TJ shivered as the Walker’s meaning became clear. ‘One of us.’

“No,” she whispered, but actions speak louder than words and she couldn’t move, couldn’t fight. Laurel gasped as long taloned fingers raked down her back, shredding cloth and skin. 

The Walker grinned, pointed teeth discoloured with blood from where Laurel had punched him in the face, and nodded. “Shah.”

“I’m not a monster,” TJ said, but her voice was small, small and afraid. “I’m not one of you.”

“Shah!” The Walker turned and raised its hand to claw out Laurel’s throat. In one endless moment, TJ saw those weary midnight blue eyes seek her out, her expression full of… what? Resignation? Pain? Relief? Or a combination of all of them? Whatever it was, it stirred TJ into action, and she charged forward, grabbing the Walker’s head and snapping his neck with one brisk, professional twist. The sudden movement surprised the other two, their grip on Laurel loosening – their mistake. The other woman smashed her booted foot into the knee of one, and it screamed as the joint collapsed. TJ finished it off with a kick under the chin. In the meantime, Laurel had driven the nasal bones of the other into the brain with a palm strike straight upwards.

And then all was still, except for their heavy panting, and the occasional whistling groan of a Walker rendered immobile.

“Laurel?” TJ broke the silence hesitantly. “Are you…”

“Okay?” Laurel shrugged, then grimaced. “Not really, but I’m used to it.”

“I…” TJ struggled with the words. “I’m sorry. I let them hurt you.” She looked down, realising that during the fight her shirt had been ripped open, laying bare the mark on he chest. It seemed… bigger, somehow. Spreading. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not one of them TJ. Not yet.” Laurel spoke quietly, but there was a hardness in her voice. “But you will if you let them make you one.”

TJ looked up, covering the black swirls on her skin with her hand. “Aren’t you afraid? Afraid that I’ll betray you? That one night you’ll wake to find me at your throat?” She swallowed. “I can’t be trusted.”

“I know. But it doesn’t mean I won’t trust you anyway.” There was the slightest hint of a smile on Laurel’s blue-painted lips, before it slipped away again. “As long as I can.”

“As long as you can.” TJ nodded. “Then we’d better get moving, hadn’t we? We don’t…”

“…Have a lot of time,” Laurel finished, and this time, the smile was more than a hint.


End file.
